One of a Kind
by Lost-Remembrance
Summary: Doctor Powell finds himself a near-perfect match in one infamous conman. Powell is determined to get that perfect liver, whether the donor is willing or not.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar or any of the characters.

Note: Spin off of the episode 01x10 "Vital Signs". This is before the finale. AU. Oh, and expect short chapters as well. I wanted to do another short-chaptered fic like my SM "Am I Getting Through?". Enjoy!

**One of a Kind**

Chapter One:

"Your kidney is still failing, Doctor Powell. The signs aren't improving. I've managed to get a judge to sign a court order allowing your relocation to a better facility." Dr. Wayne Powell's lawyer, James Howe, frowned, "Hopefully the medical facilities will be better than here." At the trial, the judge had been lenient and allowed Powell to be kept in a small prison with a decent medical facility given his situation. No one could have expected his health to deteriorate so rapidly.

"Thank you." The doctor's voice was raspy. It was evident that he lost weight, noticeable even in his baggy orange jumpsuit.

The lawyer, a friend from college, smiled weakly. He prayed his smile conveyed the hope he wished to inspire for his longtime friend. The chances he knew were slim to nothing. The chances of finding a match, after so long, made his heart sink as he realized he had a front row seat to watching his friend waste away. "Hey, it's okay. If I'm lucky, the judge will even take a look into the appeal. With your condition, your good behavior, and your service record, this judge will be lenient." Powell nodded but didn't look too hopeful. "Oh, by the way, a nurse asked me to give this to you." He slid a piece of paper over to the incarcerated man.

"What is it?"

Howe shrugged. "She said something about the results about the patient they thought had escaped and was rummaging around in your office."

The doctor's eyes got wider as he read the information. His staff, bless them, were smart enough to get a blood sample and start a medical chart for the escaped patient—now identified Neal Caffery—in order to match him to any of the patients listed in his database. There were no hits of course, considering Caffery wasn't in their system as a patient.

"Good news I hope?"

The doctor looked up and squashed his emotions, carefully masking his face. His friend and lawyer couldn't know. It would simply be too risky. "The only good news will be if I manage to get out of this sentence early… and before I die."

Howe looked down at his watch, noting the time. "Ok, well I'm going to meet the judge in her chambers and duke it out with the FBI's DA. I'll let you know how things work out."

Powell nodded his affirmation. He stood slowly, waiting for the guard to come and assist him back to his cell.

"Be gentle with him, alright?" Howe added, slipping the guard a twenty. "It doesn't look like he's doing to well."

"All the guards are nice to him. He's one of the few who isn't a pain in the ass." The guard assisted Powell up to his feet, keeping a steady guiding hand on him.

Howe nodded, waved to his client and friend, and took his leave.

Powell still held the nurse's results in his hands. He folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket.

He would never have imagined the news today would bring. A spark of hope rekindled in his chest. Neal Caffery was a 99.99% match.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Thanks to all reviewers who pointed out the liver mistake. It has been fixed, as well as some embarrassing spelling mistakes.

Regarding chapter length, all chapters will be short. Don't expect long chapters. This is going to be a short story. There are only about five or six chapters to it. I'll try to keep updates frequent to make up for the short chapter lengths. I'm experimenting with different techniques and styles and this fic is one of them.

Thank you to all reviewers, watchers, and favs! I never expected that kind of reception to this story!

**One of a Kind**

Chapter Two:

Rikers Island, New York:

Powell crumbled the paper in his hand in frustration. It was just his luck that of all the people to be such a match it would be the one who helped land him in prison. A maniacal grin crossed his features. Yet, at the same time karma was at work. The one who tricked him into thinking he was going into kidney failure would be his saving grace. He smoothed the paper back out and carefully folded it. He slipped it into his pocket.

He leaned back against his bed, closing his eyes as he plotted. His lawyer would already be quickly at work, helping to lose him in mountains of paperwork. Escaping wouldn't be hard at all—not from this prison.

And so, when the lights shut off for night hours, it would begin…

FBI Bureau, New York City Headquarters:

Peter growled as he looked at the note in front of him. "What do you mean that Neal isn't here? He knows how important this case is for us!"

"We called his cell and already phoned June." Jones said, "She said he had left for work an hour ago."

"It's not like Neal to be late." Peter tossed the file onto his desk as looked at his agent, "Jones, get me Neal's tracking information."

"There's a problem with that," Cruz walked into the room, worry written on her face. "Neal's tracker just went offline. It's either been cut or tampered with." She stood in Peter's doorway, body tense and ready for orders.

"I'll go see what I can find." Jones turned and took his leave. Peter knew his agent was itching to get to the root of this problem. He knew that his agents and Neal had grown rather close despite their nonchalant attitudes or bickering. Neal was like a wayward puppy—it was impossible not to have affections of some sort for him.

"Damn it!" Peter slammed his fist down onto his desk. 'Where are you Neal? What have you gotten yourself into now?' Worry was churning in Peter's gut.

TBC

Author's note: Borrowed Riker's Island from Law and Order SVU. I figured it was better than making up some random name, especially when that name was "Queen Victoria's Prison" for some strange reason.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Thanks to WitchPencil for reminding me of something I forgot to put into this chapter!

Chapter Three:

Neal struggled against his bonds, breath quickening and a cold sweat breaking out across his feverish skin. His wrists were already rubbed red and raw. His hair was matted on his forehead. His impeccable suit, tie, and jacket were carelessly thrown into a corner.

"Neal, Neal, Neal." A voice jerked him from his struggles. His mind quickly attempted to pin point the voice. The voice seemed to notice this. Shuffling drew Neal's attention over to a shadowy corner where the door was located. "I'm hurt. You don't remember me?"

"What do you want?" Neal stated as calmly as he could. His personality was one of his best weapons. If he could possibly incite this person enough, he hoped to be able to take advantage of the red haze that accompanied anger.

"Oh nothing, really. Just a little something I think is only fair. After all, you made be believe I was dying. It's the least you could do to remedy the situation. Oh, and don't worry. When I'm sipping juice on the beaches of Mexico, I'll be sure to thank you."

"Powell." Neal blinked in surprise as the haggard doctor stepped out of the shadows.

"Got it in one. Such a smart boy." Powell hissed, eyes narrowing. "I trusted you, and you—you…" His nostrils flared in anger, before he took a calming breath and visibly collected himself. "Well, that's all in the past."

"The FBI isn't going to be happy to learn you skipped out on prison, especially when you fought so hard for leniency regarding your condition." Neal pointed out in his matter-of-fact voice.

"Shut up. It won't matter, by the time I'm done with this, then I'll already be on my way. Saving money in various Swiss banks does come in handy after all. I've got myself a team that will take care of me and guard me."

"Nothing will be able to protect you from Peter. He'll find you and throw you back in prison. I would know." Neal cheekily grinned, rolling his wrists against his bonds. A feeling of dread was beginning to grow in his gut. Something was off about this situation, and it was sending warning bells ringing throughout his body.

"It won't matter. He'll be more occupied with you. I've been keeping an eye on you for the last couple of months. You've grown too comfy. It was all too easy to slip you a drug." Well, that certain explained the residual drowsiness, floating, and dizzy feeling. "

_Mozzie was always so paranoid he couldn't help but laugh at the ideas the short man came up with. He tried never to be too predictable and easy to find (for those who weren't close and trusted friends of course)._

_Neal always tended to have the same routine, depending on the day. June always had a morning volunteering position every Tuesday. It was on those days he decided to treat himself to a little home-brewed coffee from a little artsy bistro on his way to the Bureau. He enjoyed the coffee and the atmosphere. It was… nostalgic to watch the young artists around him. It made him think of less worrying times._

_At 8:45 he would gulp down the rest of his brew and start heading towards the Bureau. Sometimes he would sidetrack, maybe splurge a little and buys a little something to entertain himself with at the office, or something to give Elizabeth to make Peter get all hot and bothered. He loved Tuesdays. It was the one day that he could find his own way to work without having to worry about who he was carpooling with (usually Peter and sometimes Jones). _

_He slowly fell into a routine. He made a schedule of it, actually, to make sure that he was at the office before Peter was so he wouldn't be "scolded" for being late. Coffee, people gazing, work. _

Karma must not like him. Mozzie, if he wasn't worried about the situation Neal managed to get himself into, would probably be telling him "I told you so."

When he noticed Powell was still bragging, Neal found himself wondering about why the villains in life felt the need to monologue. Was it a vanity issue?

"And Peter? Well, as soon as he notices you're missing and you haven't flown the coop, he'll be too panicked to think straight. I've seen the way he cares about you." Neal raised an eyebrow at that statement, which Powell ignored. "Now, are those restraints too tight? I hope they aren't chaffing. After all, I need to make sure that you're taking care of yourself."

"And why would that matter to you?" Neal winced when he saw the doctor pull out a long syringe. He tapped it two times and squirted it once to get rid of any air bubbles.

Powell turned to his captive, "Why to make sure that the donor for my new kidney is in tip-top shape of course!"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

Neal breathed heavily in and out, adrenaline rushing through his veins and panic blurring his mind. He had been in some pretty tight situations before, but never had he felt so completely and utterly helpless! There was no room for him to twist his wrists around in the restraints latching him to the table. He knew the leather probably had blood on them by now; he imagined he could feel it running down his wrists.

He clenched his teeth, straining his muscles in the futile effort to escape. He didn't want to be sliced open, used for harvesting an organ for a desperate psychotic criminal! He didn't sign up for this when he became a Bureau consultant!

"Peter, of all the times to find me, now would be a really good time!" Neal hissed out through clenched teeth.

A door creaked open and a lovely orderly walked in, wearing a white uniform with squeaky clean white shoes as well. She looked out of place, with her cheeky smile, blonde hair, and merry brown eyes. "Hello there Mister Caffery!" The woman said, "Anything I can help you with today?" She took sight of his wrists, eyes widening and gasping a bit.

Neal watched as she tutted and quickly pulled out a med kit, prepared to help his bandages. She paused momentarily before unlatching the restraints and meticulously bandaging his wrists.

"There!" She tightened the restraints once more and pulled back, hands on her hips in a proud manner. "All better."

"Actually, could I go to the bathroom, miss?" Neal pleaded, turning his wide doe brown eyes onto her. She melted like butter on a hot day. Neal felt a brief flicker of hope spark in his chest.

"Alright sugar." Joy toothily smiled, "Let's get you to the restroom. I'm sure you want some last couple of moments to compose yourself. Such a brave young man, willing to donate some of your kidney!"

Caffery felt fear rush into him once more upon her words. Surgery. Donate. Kidney. He was barely able to suppress a shudder running down his spine. He gave her a tight smile, "Yeah." So that was the lie Powell told the doctors and attending staff?

The nurse escourted him to the restroom and he chamed his way into her heart. Of course it didn't hurt that she assumed he was here willingly out of the kindness of his heart. "Even though you have such an anxious condition! Why, if I had to deal with such a fear of hospitals then I doubt I would ever volunteer for such a thing! I'm sure it helps a bit that we're a smaller place of operation than a public hospital, but—still! You're handling this like such a trooper!"

Joy was certainly a joy to be around. However, Neal couldn't help but predict he would rarely set foot anywhere near a doctor or hospital if he could after this situation was… resolved.

"Here we are, hun." Joy pushed open the door for him. "Mind those wrists dear. Just think wide-open spaces. Or at least that's what Gail says on up there in therapy for some of her patients."

"Thanks, Joy, you've been a great help!" Neal made his way into the restroom.

She winked at him, "Not a problem darling. I'll wait for you out here. I figured the staff bathroom would appear less… institutional than our regular bathrooms." Honestly, the woman had a heart of gold. He almost felt bad tricking her and using her like this. But, when the Bureau came—if they come, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind—at least he could put in a good word for her. Unlike the other greedy bastards who were a part of this scheme.

"Hey, do you…uh think that I could use your cell phone really quick? Just to buzz my mom and let her know how I'm doing. She always gets nervous when I'm off by myself—or when I'm nervous." He chuckled, hands shaking slightly, sheepishly looking at the kind woman. Outwardly, he portrayed the act as only a professional conman was able.

"Of course." She said, after only a few moments of hesitation. "Just be quick. I'm sure the doctors won't want you up and about for much longer. Mr. Powell is going to be coming in in about an hour, so there's a lot of prep work to be done!" She passed him her sleek mobile.

"Thanks!" He shut the door behind him, fingers rapidly dialing Peter's number. He closed his eyes briefly, thanking whatever being was watching over him at that moment. Things were finally looking on his side! He had a phone, an hour time limit, and memorized Peter's cell phone number.

His heart plummeted when all he got was Peter's voicemail. Of all the times to not have his phone on! A rage coiled inside of him as well as overwhelming desperation. He quickly rattled off a desperate voicemail.

"_Peter! Please! You've got to help me! Powell has got me somewhere in a private facility! He said something about me being a match and taking my kidney! I've got less than an hour. This is Joy's cell phone—the number is 555-432-1689! If you call it, you can trace it, right? I heard the intercom paging doctor Shulevitz and Urbanovix! I don't think we've left the city—Powell is out somewhere and is going to be here soon. Peter—please hurry." _A female voice then notified him that he had reached his limit. The message was sent express.

Joy knocked on the door. "Neal, are you okay?"

Neal looked at the mirror and his sunken eyes. Terror was in them. The clock was ticking.

He took a deep breath and turned on the faucet. "Just a minute Joy." He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the mirror. The glass was cool against his flushed forehead. His eyes snapped open as he inspected the mirror once more.

It was a medicine cabinet.

Fear and desperation drove him. He had to buy himself some time. He quickly but quietly unlatched the cabinet, finding a plethora of pills. His eyes landed on one bottle and he popped it open. He poured pills into his hand and shoved them rapidly into his mouth, cupping his hands under the faucet and gulping water down.

He flicked the lock closed, ignoring Joy's worried dulcet tones. As much as he hoped he would survive this ordeal, he would rather die than be used to harvest organs like they did in some creepy sci-fi movie he had once seen with Kate.

He stumbled back, falling backwards. His head crashed against the toilet seat and everything went black.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

The FBI picked the most inopportune time to barge into the building, flashing badges, a warrant, and guns blazing.

Peter was near the head of the group, eyes sharp and calculating. All personnel in the room froze. Looks of shock and confusion were blatant on their face. Peter felt a surge of fear spike through him when he saw a gurney.

Joy looked up, hand frozen on the syringe she was about to hand to the doctor who was on call. Strands of her hair were coming out from her tight bun, matching with her frenzied state. Never would she have expected the charming young man to be so on edge that he would be willing to attempt suicide!

"Neal!" Peter shouted, flicking the safety on his weapon as he rushed forward. Other agents swarmed the building. The elder agent rushed over to his partner, taking in the pale skin and deathly still body.

The doctors, driven by their nature, quickly spurred back into action, calling out orders as they attempted to save a life. The agents gave them a clear berth, their actions condoning their behavior.

Not to mention Peter Burke hovering like a helicopter parent, worry evident in his eyes, as he ordered the doctors "You had better save him! I swear I will throw you in jail for being a part of this!" His threats and rants luckily fell on deaf ears.

Quickly, they pumped his stomach and Peter had to avert his eyes as the sight and smell made his own stomach turn.

Everything seemed a blur of movement. The seasoned agent felt dizzy, as if the world was spinning and tilting all around him. Diana's calm voice broke through the rushed haze. "Boss," her guiding hand led him from the crazed foray. "We need to find Powell. One of the nearby attendants said that he was being prepped for surgery."

Those words snapped him out of his haze and incensed his anger. "Right." His mind was focused strictly on finding that bastard who had put Neal in this situation in the first place. "Let's get this bastard and throw him back in jail."

"I have a feeling the judge won't feel like accommodating him and his illness this time." Diana murmured as the two crept down the hallway, guns armed and loaded. "Especially when he broke out of the jail and accommodations he asked for."

A nurse in green scrubs was standing outside of a closed door, looking around in confusion and worry. It seemed like she was straining to hear any of the commotion located down the hallways. Her eyes widened when she saw the FBI embossed vests.

"Miss," Peter said, lowering his gun. "We have a warrant to search the premise and search for the escaped convict and kidnapper Maxwell Powell."

"Oh," the woman was obviously flustered, "The uh d-doctors are prepping him for surgery." She turned and opened the handle, ushering the man and woman inside the sterilized room.

The entered, announcing their presence and clearly startling the attending doctors. One even dropped a scalpel on the floor.

"This surgery is off. Wake him up." Peter commanded, gesturing at the man with his gun. The doctor pulled down his mask. The room was no longer sterile, so it was quite obvious the surgery wouldn't take place.

"How long will it take for him to wake up from the anesthesia?" Diana asked.

"Not long," a nurse said, taking a step back from the man as she pulled away equipment and the mask covering his face. "We only just sedated him."

Peter felt an unmistakable feeling of satisfaction after Powell's eyes flickered open, drowsiness falling away into clarity and then fear when he looked at the barrel of a gun. "Hello, Mr. Powell. We meet again."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six:

Powell was lying down on a medical gurney. Powell had hired the best team of private doctors and surgeons. After all, one he had fled the country, he just needed enough money to be able to live comfortably. Outside of the USA with USA currency and exchange rates, it would be relatively easy.

"Alright Mr. Powell," the head surgeon said, already in full garb and properly protected, "Stacey will now sedate you." Powell relaxed and closed his eyes. He had waited so long for this day—had dreams of it even, and now it was finally coming true!

Neither team had yet been notified about Neal's situation that occurred not five minutes beforehand. Neal's situation and the threat of death made the situation all the more urgent, preoccupying the thoughts of the doctors that rushed to help the still body.

One doctor turned his head to the clock on the wall. "It's five past. Where in the world are they? The donor should have been here and settled into the next room and prepped."

Powell heard the nurse, Stacey, ask him to count backwards from ten. By seven, everything went dark. Distantly, he felt elated at knowing that when he woke up, he would get a second chance at life.

…

"Freeze!" The doctor put his hands up in the air, surprise clearly written on his face. The scalpel fell down to the floor with a clatter. "FBI!"

"The FBI?"

"This surgery is off. Wake him up." Peter commanded, gesturing at the man with his gun. The doctor blinked in shock at the commands. This didn't suite well with either of the agents.

"This man is an escaped felon! Cut off that anesthesia right now and wake him up!" The nurse then was quick to comply. The man had barely been under for a minute. Burke thanked his lucky stars. He took in the form of Neal and felt anger flare inside of him. How dare Powell do this to his friend and partner? His trigger finger itched.

The criminal showed signs of waking, judging by the twitching in his left index finger and right eyebrow. The nurse stepped back, although she was still clearly monitoring his vitals.

"Is it over already?" Powell mumbled, slightly dazed and not feeling even the slightest bit of pain—or any difference at all.

"Not in the least." A low voice said, cutting through the haze. His eyes snapped open. That voice, along with Caffery's had haunted his nights at prison, mocking him and reminding him of his failure and impending demise.

"You!" Powell lurched from his gurney, surprising spry for someone who had just been under sedation.

"You're under arrest, Powell." Burke had his gun trained on him. He didn't trust the wild look in his eyes.

A snarl formed on Powell's face, twisting his features to look almost demonic. The doctor lunged for a scalpel, gripping it in his hands. Neal was still unconscious, unable to defend himself. Powell's arm swung down in an arc, target motionless and waiting for the fatal stab.

"No!" Peter's eyes went wide, his heart pounded, and his body lunged forward on instinct, mouth open in shock as he cried out. "Neal!"

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: Sorry for the lengthy delay; I haven't had time to post any updates. Here's the final chapter though—enjoy!

Chapter Seven:

Neal had gauze wrapped around his forehead. Peter didn't feel safe with letting Neal stay by himself at June's. The elder woman was off with her daughter in Paris, touring art museums. Elizabeth had bullied Neal into their house, giving him the guest bedroom and making him feel comfortable. With her cooking and TLC, Neal was starting to lose the shadowed look in his eyes and sallow color to his skin.

Mozzie had even been able to bring a smile to the young man's face. Peter still felt useless in helping Neal recover. He felt like he wasn't doing enough.

"I was so worried you weren't going to come." Neal quietly confessed one night as Peter walked in to check up on him. His voice was soft and raspy; a reminder to his suicide attempt and the induced vomiting that ensued.

Peter leaned forward, looking the other man in the eye, "Neal, no matter what I will always be there for you and do… just about anything for you." Neal's eyes were wide as he noted the sincerity and honesty in Peter's voice. He grinned, "Even if it causes me to have to fill out a ten page report."

Neal gave a relieved smile as he leaned back into the pillows. Peter stood to turn off the light and then made his way to the door. "Get some sleep, Neal. El's making waffles in the morning." Neal groaned in contentment, eyes fluttering shut as he drifted off to his dreams.

Peter looked at the innocent face of the conman. It wasn't hard not to care for the wayward man. He had the heart of a kid, and he couldn't help but hate Kate for twisting the young man with wishes, hopes, and love into doing her dirty work. All Neal needed was someone to push him in the right direction and keep him from straying. He needed a friend, a partner… a father figure. His eyes softened.

He remembered how he had almost lost him. Not since he had been shot at during the prayer book incident. He remembered tapping Powell not once, but three times. Some would consider it excessive. His report and Internal Affair investigations looked into the malicious or vendetta possibility behind the number of shots he fired. It all boiled down to the man with the weapon though. Even after the first two, Powell was falling forward—in a kamikaze attempt—to impale Neil with his dying strength. The third bullet threw off his trajectory, instead sending him backwards.

He stared at Neal for a while longer, memorizing his face. The innocence on his relaxed face slowly erased the haunting image of Neal's still form on a gurney, looking for all the world defeated. "Good night, Neal. Sleep tight." He walked out of the room, letting the door click behind him.

He'd always be there for Neal. With all the trouble the kid got himself into, somebody needed to watch the kid's back.

FIN


End file.
